The Taste of Victory
by Mirach
Summary: There is a custom among the heirs of Númenor before the meal to stand silently and look towards the West. The feast on the Fields of Cormallen is ready, and Aragorn honors that custom and contemplates about the road that led him here. Written for Teitho


**Summary****: **There is a custom among the heirs of Númenor before the meal to stand silently and look towards the West. The feast on the Fields of Cormallen is ready, and Aragorn honors that custom and contemplates about the road that led him here. Written for Teitho: Eat, Drink and Be Merry

**Rating: **K+

**Beta: **Nautika

**Disclaimer: **I have no right for these characters and places. But I have the right to dream about them. I have no right to earn money with my writing. But I have the right to write about them. I would never wish for more.

**A/N: **All the quotes in _Italic_ are from The Return of the King, Book VI, Chapters 4: TheFields of Cormallen by J. R. R. Tolkien, if not said otherwise.

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**The Taste of Victory**

_And then Aragorn stood up, and all the host arose, and they passed to pavilions made ready, to eat and drink and make merry while the day lasted._

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The Standing Silence. A moment of quiet contemplation, a display for honor to the past, thankfulness for the present, and hope for the future…

I stand motionless, facing the West, and all the thoughts that had no time to reach my mind until now come like a thread of Vairë's tapestry, unfolding before my eyes. One moment the memories feel like a dream, a story of someone else painted in unclear pictures on the canvas of my mind. And in the next moment they are real, I can feel them, taste them and smell them, and the present is unreal, dimmed like a dream in the short while before the waking.

The pictures change quickly, and yet every one of them lasts for ages, and lies heavily upon my mind. They bring the scenes of battles – the ones long forgotten and obliterated by the flowing time: the blood soaked to the ground to feed the red flowers of briar and corn poppy, the graves overgrown by grass… and the ones where the clang of steel still echoes in the battle-fields and the tears are still bitter in the eyes of the widows.

I have fought many battles in my life, and I bear many scars upon my body to remind me of them. But there are other scars, deeper and more painful – the scars upon my soul. I have seen death of many that I loved; I have seen the light leaving their eyes, the spark of their spirit extinguished. I remember Boromir, and Halbarad, and many others. Many times I asked "Why? Why did they have to die?" And every time only silence answered me, as heavy as the stillness of death. My mind says something about a sacrifice for light in the fight against the darkness. But my heart refuses to listen, and I lose a piece of it with every such sacrifice. It was a long way to this field, long and hard, lined with sacrifices…

The pictures before my mind's eye return me to a dim room lit by the flames of pure evil emanating from the Seeing Stone of Orthanc. They return me to a narrow path beneath the dark mountain, and its walls close around me to bury me in the cold embrace of dead, whispering voices. I must steady myself before swaying on my feet; such is the weight of the memories.

They bring me to the end of hope, to the last, desperate battle. I don't know if I believed in victory. I think perhaps I didn't. But I fought, prepared to fight until the last breath for the spark of hope. I didn't believe in victory. I believed in hope. The evil falsehoods wanted to quench it, and for a while I almost believed them and despaired. But I couldn't, for to lose hope meant to lose myself. I didn't believe them. I was prepared to die, but die with the certainty that I have done everything that I could. I prayed to Valar to accept my sacrifice and the sacrifice of those that followed me, and give hope to this shadowed land.

And there, at the end of hope, the hope was reborn like a phoenix from the ashes. The clouds of darkness arose, the earth shifted and mountains trembled, and an evil shape towered above it all like a hand reaching to the west. But the West Wind came and blew the shape away, and it was no more. The very air felt cleansed, free of a great evil. _„The realm of Sauron is ended! The Ring-bearer has fulfilled his Quest..."_

But my heart sank as I saw the fires on the East, the fires of the cruel Mount Doom. Please no, I thought, not them… The Valar demanded the promised sacrifice. It should have been me! Not them… Not now… Maybe I wept. I don't remember. But the memories are blurred… yes, it could have been the tears in my eyes. I don't remember the next fight. Sauron's creatures were fleeing, but some of them still resisted. Now I fought for victory, but victory without hope for the brave Halflings. I know that I fought, for there were many slain orcs and creatures of darkness at my feet when I looked up to the eagles that came with the northern wind in their wings, and a precious burden in their clutches.

I didn't dare to believe, not until they landed, and I could see their burden without doubt. They brought the hobbits out of the fire. Then I saw the paleness of their skin and their wounds. They were so thin… no hobbit should be so thin. I saw them, and I didn't dare to believe that they lived. It is always better to be at peace with the worst then to have one's heart broken by the cruel truth. That was what I told myself. I think I have never followed that rule…

In that moment the battle ceased to exist for me. They lived. I felt their pulse beneath my fingers, weak and erratic. They were on the very brink of death. Oh, why it had to be them? It should have been me who traveled the poisonous plains of Mordor. I am used to hardship, I can go on without rest and food and water, I am hardened by many years of travels, I am… not so innocent, not so untainted by evil. It should have been me… But I knew in my heart why it couldn't be me. I let the Ring go. It was the best course. It was the only course to defeat Sauron. Oh, but the price! There are some wounds that will never heal. I feared for the hobbits, not only for their lives, but for their bright spirit.

And I vowed: there will be no sacrifice today. And if, then it will be mine, as it should have been… I battled for their lives with all my power. I searched for them in the grey country of shadows, refusing to resign when I reached the point from where I wasn't sure if I could return. It didn't matter to me, if only I was able to find them, and push them back to the light. It didn't matter to me, if I stayed in the darkness. It should have been me…

I don't know how long I searched for them. Time has no meaning in that country. I was weary beyond imagination, I thought I would fall there and never stand up. But I kept going, I refused to admit defeat. As long as my heart beat, as long as I draw breath. I kept going with the strength of my will. And there, in the darkness, I found them! _Two small figures, forlorn, hand in hand upon a little hill_ in the sea of shadows.

I called them, and took their hands, and led them to the light. Every step felt like the hardest struggle against the dark stream, and every movement hurt. I couldn't give up. When I finally saw the light, I pushed them to it, and fell to my knees, unable to make the next step. I don't know how I managed to get up again, and keep going, one painful step after another. It was the thought of Arwen that guided me, her face shining like the purest light of Silmaril in my thoughts. I reached the light and then I remember no more.

I woke in a soft bed, but over me _gently swayed wide beechen boughs, and through their young leaves sunlight glimmered, green and gold_. _All the air was full of a sweet mingled scent._ Ithilien… My brothers were at my side, smiling at me. Strange, I thought, when I felt a dull pain and saw the bandages around my side. I must have been injured in the battle. I didn't notice… Me, a healer. I don't think Elladan and Elrohir believed me. Well, maybe my perplexed look convinced them. They scolded me heartily for it, and for scaring them so. They told me how they found me at the hobbits' side, collapsed in a pool of my own blood, pale like a specter and barely breathing. I knew that they were not angry at me, just scared. For them, I am still their little brother; despite the fact that now I look older than both of them together. As I thought, they couldn't hold the angry façade for long. They embraced me, and we laughed and wept together, overcome with the happiness that was in the sweet air of Ithilien.

My side still hurts slightly. They don't need to know. The hobbits, I mean. They woke a few days later from the healing sleep that I sent them into. I smile at the memory of joy mixing with incredulity in their faces as they saw me in my regal attire. _Strider... Yes, Sam, I am Strider. It is a long way, is it not, from Bree, where you did not like the look of me? A long way for us all but yours has been the darkest road. _They don't need to know how far I went to save them. Let them rejoice in the company of friends. Let them see the green leaves and hear the bubbling stream. Let them eat and drink, and be merry again. They have seen enough darkness and dangers. _Aglar'ni Pheriannath! Praise them with great praise! _They don't need to know.

As I stand so, looking to the West, all the memories return. Until now, I didn't have time to ponder them. Now they finally catch up with me, and I realize it: Victory_. _After so many years of hard labour, after all the trials and hardships, all the sacrifices. Victory. The evil that hung above Middle-earth for so long like a shroud of darkness is no more. _Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever, and the Dark Tower is thrown down!__1_ _The Ring-bearer has fulfilled his Quest... _He fulfilled his Quest, and he lives! And I live! We all live! I want to sing and cry and weep and laugh. I want to embrace the person next to me… but instead, I stand silently, and bask in the sensation of this while. I needed this silent moment to fully realize it. _Victory_…

I stand motionless, facing the West, and look in the direction where my ancestors came from, to the sea, and beyond. I _look towards Númenor that was, and beyond to Elvenhome that is, and to that which is beyond Elvenhome and will ever be_.(2) I don't look with my eyes, but with the eyes of my mind. There, on the Far West, is Valinor, the Blessed Realm. I thank the Valar for this while, for the light that penetrated the shadows and for the blessed years that will follow. Is it the foresight of my race that tells me so, or is it the promise of happiness in the sweet air of the forest of Ithilien? I don't know, but I know that I am right, and I thank the Valar that they let me live to see these years and enjoy the fruits of my labour.

I look toward where the kingdom of Númenor once stood, the white palaces and sparkling fountains and fruitful gardens, the proud slopes of the high Meneltarma. There the Kings of old ruled in the bright times before the Shadow, with all the blessings that a mortal man could have. The corruption of Númenor towers like a dark flood wave above my heart in this moment, when I think about my ancestors. In this silent moment I realize everything that the victory brings: in a few days, my destiny will be fulfilled. I will enter the White City as a King.

The corruption of Númenor is a warning to me. Then like a light emerging from the dark wave I see in my mind nine white ships, guided by proud men untouched by the corruption. _Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien_(1) – out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. Out of the years of secrecy, out of hiding, through the shadow, through the dark wave I am come. I know how close I was to the fate of Isildur. The same blood, the same weakness… The Ring called to me. But I resisted. I rectified the mistake of my ancestor, and with that, I proved my line worthy of the throne again. In my mind, I hail to Númenor. The debts are redeemed. You can rest in peace, my forefathers.

Because there, to the west from where I stand, is Gondor, the kingdom of your heirs, her white walls and proud towers shining in the warm southern sun like pearls and diamonds. She awaits me – I can feel her like a living being: she purrs like a cat in the warm sun and stretches her limbs like someone who carried a heavy burden for a long time, when the weight has been lifted. Her breath has the sweet scent of flowering meadows and honey, and she is dressed in the white cherry-blossoms like a bride awaiting her groom. I feel her calling to me. She awaits me. She is my mother, and she is my bride, and she is my daughter. We are one, and I feel blessed by her presence…

The Standing Silence. A moment of quiet contemplation, a display of honor for the past, thankfulness for the present, and hope for the future… I needed it to sort my thoughts. Now I feel as if my heart will overflow with joy. I jerk out of my reverie, and notice the glances that my friends – and not only them - are giving me. Oh yes, I realize. Nobody would sit when the king stands. It is my privilege to end the Standing Silence. I will have to get used to it. I smile at all who look to me, and with a last glance to the West I sit down, and motion for the food and drinks to be served.

Never before has the wine tasted so rich and bittersweet, and the food so delicious. To tell the truth, I don't remember the meals in the last weeks at all. They were eaten in haste and weariness, under the threat of the shadow. This is the first time in many weeks that I realize the sensation of the food and drink upon my tongue. And I eat, and drink, and laugh, and it _is_ for the first time: the first time after many years that I am truly, fully, unashamedly happy.

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(1) J. R. R. Tolkien: The Return of the King, Book VI, Chapter 5: The Steward and the King

(2) J. R. R. Tolkien: The Two Towers, Book IV, Chapter 5: The Window on the West


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